


Returning

by EuphoricSound, SidheRa



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Reunions, Sex, Shower Sex, Sleepy Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-22
Updated: 2012-10-22
Packaged: 2017-11-16 19:14:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EuphoricSound/pseuds/EuphoricSound, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SidheRa/pseuds/SidheRa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha has been on assignment for two months. It's been a long two months.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Returning

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a collab between me (SidheRa) and [Euphoricsound](http://euphoricsound.tumblr.com). Alas, she does not yet have an Ao3, so until then, you'll just have to pretend to see her up in the co-author area!
> 
>  **Euphoricsound’s Notes** : This started out as Jo's birthday fic, then Sidhera and I decided to co-write it. Then we kept writing, and it became massive. Thus, this is Chapter 1 of a multi-chapter fic that we decided to call "Returning." Happy birthday, Jo!
> 
>  **SidheRa’s Notes** : This has been an absolute blast to write (and write and write and write)! It may have started out small, but then, as is our tendency, things kind of got out of control. Everyone needs a brain twin.

"All I'm saying is, I think the operations in Baku and Tbilisi are connected. They try very hard not to associate in public, but Barton and I spent enough time doing recon in Baku that it was easy to connect the dots. I documented it pretty thoroughly in my written report."  
  
Natasha thought that this might be the longest debriefing in the history of espionage. Considering that her career had started when she was an actual child, this was an impressive assumption. For some reason, though, Coulson had latched onto a particular group of arms dealers based in Georgia and Azerbaijan, and he was being relentless about the details.  
  
Relentless to the point of debriefing her into the wee hours of the morning.  
  
At some point, he might tell her why. Or he might not; that was Coulson for you. Both outcomes seemed irrelevant to the fact that she was very much done rehashing the minutia of the last eight weeks of deep cover.  
  
Finally, Coulson noticed her boredom and took pity on her. "Alright, Agent. Get some rest. I'm going to review your report again. If I have follow-up questions, I'll find you,” he said with a small smile.  
  
Natasha stood as Coulson flipped open her report once again. Idly, and not for the first time, she wondered if Coulson ever slept or ate. She shrugged to herself and took her leave, exiting the small office to make a beeline for her quarters.  
  
Eight weeks of deep cover work in eternally hot, cramped quarters in Tbilisi had made her grateful for the extraction. Finally back at base thirty-six hours since she last slept, there were only three things she knew she absolutely wanted: a shower, a comfortable bed, and Clint Barton. Not necessarily in that order.  
  
The first she took care of directly after she had deposited her duffel bag on her bed and cleaned her guns. The second was a granted; SHIELD spared no expense to make sure its agents were well-rested. The last, however, was a different matter, something that would take a little more direct action on her part.  
  
That particular want had started as an annoying itch sometime during the third week of her assignment. As the operation continued, it had grown into a persistent ache dogging her heels, one that was there to greet her at the end of each day.  
  
She found the preoccupation irritating. To miss the sex was one thing, but to miss him, quite another. She was not a child, should not be affected to this degree. It rankled her.  
  
After her weapons were attended to and her body was clean, she slipped into a pair of cargo pants and a t-shirt, abandoning her quarters and winding her way through the familiar hallways of SHIELD headquarters. She paused in front of Clint's door, hesitated briefly, but then she entered the code on the keypad and quietly slipped inside.  
  
She padded through the darkened living area into his bedroom, finding her archer facedown in a tangled nest of sheets and blankets. They had gathered low on his hips, baring the planes of his muscled back to the silver moonlight in such a way that she couldn’t help but pause to admire. He must have been tired; she had shed her shirt and pants and slipped into his bed before he stirred.  
  
"Mrrff. Tasha?" His voice was a sleepy rumble. “That you?”  
  
"Yep. Unless you were expecting someone else?" she said softly, stretching the length of her body along his and enjoying the pleasant warmth that spread through her as he immediately wrapped his arms around her and drew her closer.  
  
"You didn't see the line of girls waiting out there? At least one of 'em's gonna be pissed that you jumped to the front."  
  
"Ass,” she said, but she smiled into his shoulder.  
  
He chuckled and pressed a soft, sleepy kiss to her lips. "Glad you're back," he mumbled against her mouth, then he kissed her again, more deeply this time, and she thought that what he had meant to say was "I missed you."  
  
It had been too long since she’d been in the same timezone as him, far too long since she’d been able to touch him instead of just half-remembering the late-night ghosts of his fingerprints on her body. She couldn’t help herself, just reached out and skimmed her fingertips over the his muscled arm, then over his hip, circling her finger around the dimple in his lower back. He was reacquainting himself with her body in a similar fashion, tracing her cheekbone with his thumb, smoothing her hair, drawing callused fingers up and down her back until she was shivering.  
  
Yes, she had missed him, too.  
  
She'd meant to curl into him and fall asleep, she really had, but then Clint started to intersperse little nips in between hungry kisses. One arm held her against him as the other trailed over the curve of her ass and down the back of her thigh, and suddenly her body had very different plans for the evening.  
  
He was coming to attention now, too, had noticed the way she was moving against him, and he started to pant as he explored her body.  
  
“Missed you, Tash,” he whispered when he rolled them, kissing her again before working his way down her neck. He pulled on the front of her sports bra, tugged it off and exposed her breasts to the cool air, grinning up at her while he watched her flesh pebble. She couldn’t stop the moan that escaped her throat when his mouth found her, but then, she wasn’t even trying, didn’t even bother to restrain herself because she was here with him and it was nothing and everything like she had been dreaming about for months.  
  
His hand slid down low over her belly, and he teased her gently through the damp fabric of her panties, kissing her and swallowing the frantic, half-mad groan she let out when he stopped delaying and slipped his fingers into her.  
  
“I missed this,” he said, pumping his hand and worrying the line of her jaw with the day’s growth of beard on his chin. She missed this, too, the way he felt in her arms, the way he tasted on her tongue, and dammit, she needed more than just his hand inside her. She wasn’t shy, never had been, even if she was feeling a little tentative and out of practice at the moment. She forced herself to be patient, pressed on relearning the planes of his body because she has wanted him so very badly for so long that it would be a shame to waste the opportunity.  
  
“Please, Clint,” she begged ineffectually, and her voice sounded foreign to her, the hint of pleading stronger than she’d ever heard it. She was going to feel embarrassed about that later, she could already tell, but he was twisting his fingers inside of her and rubbing the heel of his palm against her clit, and fuck, she was close.  
  
“I’ve been thinking about this for weeks,” he murmured, and the sleep roughened timbre of his voice thrummed through her body. She felt herself coil in response, her core tightened, and she gripped his shoulders, his forearms, unable to get good purchase as he ran through the litany of things he’d imagined doing to her since she’d been gone.  
  
“Come for me, baby,” he said at last, and it was the stupid endearment that did it, the way he called her baby instead of Natasha or any of the other silly things he liked to tease her with, the way it made her feel aroused and cherished at the same time, and she was at the precipice for less than a second before she slid over it, crying out as she tightening around his fingers.  
  
“Fuck,” she said when she could breathe again, and Clint chuckled, a rumble deep in his chest.  
  
“Liked that?”  
  
She pushed him onto his back by way of reply, climbed on top and pressed him down into the mattress. Some men, she knew all too well, would resent that, would not take too kindly to being manhandled, but Clint, well, Clint’s eyes just darkened and he stared up at her hungrily.  
  
She wanted to play it cool, pretend that his gaze on her didn’t affect her, but that goal had clearly gone out the window the moment he slid his fingers inside her. Rather than let him see that in her own eyes, she kissed him, sucked his lip into her mouth and bit down hard enough that she could taste the metallic hint of blood in her mouth. She has been away for too long, hasn’t seen him or talked to him except in random SHIELD emails, and the lust that she had thought was contained, tucked away and relegated to the dark corner of her mind, that lust burst forth and consumed her.  
  
Her lust seemed to infect Clint because it was now his turn to writhe under her, bucking and thrusting at her slightest movement. He was far from passive, skimming his hands everywhere he could reach, clutching at her hips, her arms, her breasts. She leaned forward awkwardly, trying to give him space to pull down his boxers, and she gasped when he took one nipple in his mouth, returning the bite she gave his lip earlier.  
  
His boxers disappeared somewhere in the fog of desire, but she didn’t care, wasn’t worried about being inattentive to her surroundings because the door was locked and she was here with him. And then he grabbed her hips as he thrust upward and a lot of things didn’t matter anymore.  
  
He stilled for a long moment, and she was grateful for the time he allowed for her body to adjust. He was thick inside her, and the sudden intrusion felt good (so very, very good, laced with a bit of right that she really wasn’t totally comfortable exploring right at that moment), but it had been a while, eight weeks if you were counting (she had), and it also hurt. She could feel herself ripple around him, grabbed onto his forearms for support as she stretched to accommodate his size.  
  
“You okay?” he asked, brushing a few stray hairs out of her face with concern thick in his voice, and she consciously made the effort to smooth the grimace she knew she was making.  
  
All she could manage was a nod, but then she rolled her hips experimentally, testing the waters. Her resultant moan set him off, and with no other warning they became frantic, moving as one, together after far too long, grasping and clutching and holding and it was too damn much for her to take.  
  
She felt him stiffen below her, and he became impossibly harder as she rode him. Even as his breathing grew more erratic and his thrusts less regular, she felt her own release build, starting low in her belly and traveling up her spine until her brain shorted out and she toppled with him into the abyss. The tension that had built up over the past few weeks, the burden of want that she’d been lugging around with her slipped out of her when she came, crying out his name and her frustration all in one breath until there wasn’t anything left except the warm body below her and the arms around her back.  
  
She was tucked into his side when she came to minutes later, and he was running his hands lazily up and down her back, murmuring something inconsequential into her hair. She skimmed her hand over his chest in reply, over his clavicles, up his neck, then on to his cheek, and at long last she guided his face down toward hers for another kiss, slower and perhaps less pointed this time, but sweeter for it.  
  
“Eight weeks is too long,” she said, but what she really meant was, “I missed you.” He seemed the understand that though because his arms flexed around her, squeezing her tight, and they slipped off into oblivion together.


End file.
